


Regrets

by neurotrophicfactors



Series: Tumblr Shorts [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neurotrophicfactors/pseuds/neurotrophicfactors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the time came to choose his allies, Sabriel Trevelyan conscripted the Templars. After all, a leashed dog cannot bite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regrets

_Cassandra’s eyes were dark and narrowed, calculative as she watched him across the war table. At the Seeker’s request, they were alone and Sabriel stood resolutely against her scrutiny._

_“I’ll admit,” she said, “I was rather surprised at how quick you were to conscript the Templars.”  
_

_Sabriel plucked one of the markers from the map, turning it over in his hands absently, and spoke in a tone that offered nothing. “Those who took red lyrium chose to do so of their own volition.”_

_Cassandra placed her hands on the table, leaning forward as her eyebrows drew together with suspicion. “But that’s not all it was, was it?”_

_Of course. While the Seeker did not always draw the correct conclusion, she did not miss clues; and now was certainly no exception. But it was too late. The charade no longer mattered. It had already served its purpose._

_Sabriel’s hand stilled and he met her eyes steadily, chin raised. “A leashed dog cannot attack on its whim,” he told her. “I could have allied with the rebel mages, but that still would have left them vulnerable to the Templar Order. That threat no longer remains.”_

_For a brief moment Cassandra’s eyes widened, then she regained control and schooled herself into a neutral expression–but she wasn’t quick enough. Sabriel had already seen the anger boiling just below the surface. Enough force would snap the tension._

_“Then your move was strategic,” she said. “I did not realize you fought in the war.”  
_

_“I did,” Sabriel said softly, and a thousand images passed before his eyes between one blink and the next. Running through the rain for the first time in twenty years, a dark-skinned hand in his; laughter while bubbles of magic danced in the air above the campfire as heat and smoke carried them higher and higher; walking through a village, talking about the changing season now that it finally mattered, now that the world was no longer monochrome; an arrow sliding across his cheek, a blade splitting his upper lip; the smell of burnt hair and flesh, blood and ruptured viscera; the sound of a man’s final breath; a pair of lips pressing against his before stilling forever; the thrill of triumph when they were all that remained standing. That was the war. And now…_

Sabriel leaned heavily against his elbow on the table. The lips of the bottle kissed his own with lazy insistence, forcing him to breathe in the sweet-sour fragrance of wine left to ferment just a little too long. He gripped the bottle like a lifeline and tried to dredge up the will to tip it back and finish the last of it. 

 _But then it will be gone_ , he thought, and thus he was trapped in a drunken stasis: wanting to drink and never wanting to see the bottom of the bottle. 

Mages had not been trusted with alcohol in the Circle and thus he never had much of an opportunity to build a tolerance for its effects. A woman played the lute and sang by the fire in the tavern. She had sung in Haven too. Sabriel struggled to remember her name and tried to imagine what she looked like naked. Instead he saw the Grand Enchanter’s green-eyed gaze, glazed and unfocused in death. A mountain full of bodies carrying staffs. 

He should have gone to Redcliffe. He should have thought to _look_  before turning to the Templars. 

Sabriel didn’t have to lift his head to know that Cassandra had sat down across from him. For a long minute, she simply sat with him in silence. Maryden sang– _Maryden,_ that _was her name_ –but the words of the lyrics didn’t fit together; or at least not in a way Sabriel could understand. Cassandra spoke.

“To be perfectly honest, I am amazed it took you this long.”

Sabriel didn’t have to ask what she meant and he kept his lips against the rim of the bottle. Cassandra reached across the table then and pulled the bottle out of his grasp. Sabriel pitched forward and caught himself moments before his face could smack into the surface of the table. 

“Not long ago you told me that it doesn’t matter what I could have done. We must accept what _did_ happen and move on,” Cassandra said. 

Sabriel stared at the wood grain, tracing the contours of the tree it once was and looking for knots within the pattern. 

“I am not very good at this.” Said like an afterthought, and Sabriel wasn’t sure if Cassandra was talking to him or herself. Then she continued. “There must be other mages who saw what was happening and left, or who were never there in the first place. They were frightened, but they made their choice–as did the Templars.”

At Sabriel’s continued unresponsiveness, Cassandra quietly ordered a drink and, once it was placed in her hand, raised it above the table. 

“A toast then,” she said, “to the mistakes we cannot forgive, and the lives we will never forget.”

Sabriel closed his eyes and exhaled. Waited. Then he inhaled as he raised the bottle of wine. “To the lives we will never forget.”

Sabriel brought the bottle to his lips, tipped his head, and drank, and then he peered through the bottom of the empty bottle like a telescope. Cassandra’s image was warped through the thick glass.


End file.
